


What a Catch, Shiro

by keiti221



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, I don't think my violent scenes are that graphic but just in case that's a warning tag, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Regret, Suicide Attempt, human galra, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiti221/pseuds/keiti221
Summary: Left in a desperate situation, Keith tries to kill himself, but his failed attempt lands him in the arms of a medical intern at the hospital who wants nothing more than to see Keith thrive. But after all he's been through, is that what Keith really wants? And if it is, can he fully recover from the past that is hellbent on haunting him.





	What a Catch, Shiro

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as a bit of cathartic writing that accidentally morphed into a story. Basically, I'm going to be an utter brat and put the first chapter here, not knowing if I'll continue it or not. If people really like it - I'll consider succumbing to the masses and writing more.
> 
> Also the title is inspired by Fall Out Boy because I live and breathe their music.

With the bruised cut on his cheek still stinging from when he was clapped on the head with a glass, Keith checks all of the windows and the door. Barred, barred, barred, and locked from the outside. He shoves against the metal bars until the skin on his hands splits, fluid rushing the calloused palms, his own body deteriorating before the barricades will. Despite the man’s urgency this morning, he knew Sendak could never be too careless to leave anything open, especially after they’ve fought. If he leaves a bloody Keith in the apartment, the locks always seem tighter.

Once again, Keith finds himself stuck. It’s been a little over a month since the last time he left the apartment. The 600 square feet are his prison, and a nasty one at that. His abdomen aches, churching bile toward his throat in a futile attempt to find nutrients on the inside. It’s been few days since he has eaten anything. The fridge is padlocked and no matter how hard he searches, he can’t find the key. His fault for getting on Sendak’s bad side, but despite a split lip and the aching in his stomach, he can’t muster the regret at pissing him off over a lack in table scraps.

Hopeless describes the sensation washing over him. There’s no way out. He’s tried screaming for help but the neighbors only ratted on him and he was beat again, but that’s nothing new. Every day Sendak rinses and repeats. Backtalk and Keith gets backhanded so hard he’s sputtering blood. Whine at all and he’s forced to his knees by a fistful of his hair and kicked because only dogs whimper. He’s been choked for not smiling and lectured on why the shadow of Sendak’s hand around his throat should make him happy – he’s not dead at least. Keith’s skills have degraded into dodging beer bottles hurled at his head and begging forgiveness for doing nothing wrong. At this point, it wouldn’t surprise him if bruises cover half his body.

Part of him hoped today would be different – the rest of him knows it probably won’t ever be. Hope deserts him the same way dust runs from the dark to the light – his essence is being quashed bit by bit. His hands have begun to tremor from hunger. Yesterday he sat clawing at the fridge hinges, shredding his nails to bloody nubs – today has the potential to bring the same. He has water but that’s not enough to sustain him. His head hurts and his anger threatens to boil over. But he knows if he exhibits that in front of Sendak, he’ll be held down and raped again. Bad attitudes are for whores and Sendak will be damned before he doesn’t treat Keith like one when he’s anything but compliant. The thought riles his stomach, and he leans against a door frame for support.

He regains his senses and wanders into the bathroom, tears pricking at his eyes. His reflection shows him a sad young man: pale and gaunt, his youthful face sunken with dark circles. Keith opens the bathroom window and breathes deeply, his heart dragging down to the pit of his being. He just wants to be free, that’s all he wanted at the start of this shit storm too. Shutting the window, he begins to leave when a glint catches his eye. Perking up, he realizes Sendak forgot to lock up his shaving set. Keith meanders over to the leather kit laid out and runs his fingers over the sharp blade, bringing his hand up to his face to watch blood prick from the tips of his finger pads. His heart stutters.

Picking up the razor, Keith turns it over in his hands, admiring the shine of the metal. After a week into his containment, and trying to kill himself with Vicodin, his actions forced Sendak to lock up anything that Keith could commit with. He even took the tub stopper. But this – Keith bites his lip, his hope fluctuating – this could free him for good. No more beatings, no more starving, no more being bent over, no more Sendak. He turns his right wrist over, targeting a purpling bruise that Sendak left after dragging him across the apartment. Without thinking, he slices the blade through his skin with one swift glide. Dark red blood instantaneously pools at the surface, beads of it sliding down his arm in quick rivulets. Keith wonders if it’ll be enough and strikes again, slashing at his skin, marring it with several gashes up to the elbow. Heart pounding, Keith transfers the razor to his blood soaked right hand and repeats.

When he’s done, his arms are practically numb from the throbbing pain. He glances down at the floor and drops the blade, head growing woozy at the sight of his blood filling gaps between tile cracks. Staggering, Keith drops to the tub, holding onto the side for support. He rests his head against it, staring at the mess he’s made. Panic sets in when he starts to feel weak. Keith shakes his head, hauling himself to his feet as tears begin to streak his face.

“What have I done? No, no, no, no.” He reaches for a towel and wraps it around his arm, pressing both to his chest, but the blood quickly soaks through the cheap material. He whines, “No, no… I’m so stupid.” Keith glances around, looking for something to stop the bleeding. “He’s going to find me and hurt me. This won’t matter.” He wipes the back of his hand across his running nose. “It can’t stop him.”

He bends down to pick up a rag and swoons. He topples over, hitting his head against the bathtub. Sinking to the floor, his vision blurs. Consciousness ebbs over Keith like a tide, dragging him in and out of reality. He isn’t sure of how long it’s been before he sees Haxus standing over him, swearing profusely and pulling out his phone. Keith tries to swat at him; after all, he’s to blame for this mess. When Keith found out Sendak had a lover, he attempted to break their three month relationship off; no one warned him that Sendak doesn’t take kindly to rejection. Messy, messy choices. Haxus tugs at Keith’s feet and the young man musters enough strength to kick at the man.

Landing a sharp smack against Keith’s cheek, Haxus curses at him, “You’re a fucking menace. I don’t know why Sendak has kept you this long. But now you’re-”

His voice warps in Keith’s ears, droning into a muddy mess of sounds. He slumps against the base of the tub as his eyes grow heavy, consciousness stealing away once again.

 

Keith recognizes that he’s awake, but the effort to open his eyes is too much. His head lulls to the side, and he groans, the world’s noises slowly dividing from their mass of sound. There’s beeping and quiet steps in the distance. He frowns – it sounds nothing like Sendak’s apartment. This quiet is the quiet of purpose, not the quiet of eerie desertion. The smell is sterile – like someone made a mistake and bought a gallon of antibacterial soap for the bathroom. The last scent on Keith’s nose was the metallic stench of blood coating his skin.

He takes a deep breath and opens one eye, blinking against the bright fluorescent lights. Letting his head drop back, Keith stares forward at the right side of the room. A few more quiet steps and a man enters his line of vision. Keith raises an eyebrow, laughing softly at his own realization.

“I fucking died.”

The man lowers the clipboard he was scribbling on and looks at Keith, his voice full of genuine curiosity, “Why do you think that?”

“White walls? Clean smell? Someone that looks like you? God had mercy on me and greeted me with an angel.”

The man smirks and steps forward, reaching out to check something above Keith’s head. “No, but your pain killers are still working, so I can see why you’d think that, Mr. Kogane.”

“Angels shouldn’t be formal. I’m Keith.” He leans forward. “Do you have dogs here?”

Suppressing his laughter, the man shakes his head. “We only allow service dogs in a _hospital._ So none are currently here.” He grabs a thermometer and sticks it in Keith’s ear. “You’re in Garrison Med. You-” Attempting to maintain his positive demeanor, he forces himself not to choke on his words. “You almost died. Almost. No heaven yet.”

Keith frowns. “If you’re not an angel, who are you?”

“I am the intern for your doctor. Takashi Shirogane.” He tucks the clipboard under his arm. “Basically I’ll be taking care of you but the doctor will pop from time to time in to make sure we both are doing fine.”

Meaning for it to be a question, Keith’s surprise ruins his tone, “You’re not a doctor.”

“Not yet. I’m in my last year of schooling.”

Keith hums, the medicine beginning to saturate his system again. “Kashi.”

Smirking, he shakes his head. “Kashi is a cereal brand. You can call me Shiro.” He glances at the papers in his hand. “I have to turn these in. I’ll be back in an hour or so to check up on you. Get some rest. You need it.”

Leaning back and letting his body relax, Keith sighs, “Thank you… Shiro.”


End file.
